A Father Goes to War
by TheNameGiver
Summary: Eleven years after the Blight, Hawke is on the run from the Chantry. Hiding in Orlais, he is approached by a mysterious elf who is recruiting the best warriors in Thedas for one mission: to find and save his son. Rated M, just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1: Hawke

HAWKE

When I first laid my eye on him, he didn't look like much. Strange, yes. But not like much.  
>I mean, not every day you see an elf outside the alienage, but not something to name the next age after, that's for sure. And he certainly didn't look imposing or anything.<br>He looked out of place among the, mostly drunk and filthy, patrons that made up The Golden Rooster's clientele. Instead of a knife-ear's common clothing, he wore a heavy, grey cloak over a darker tunic. He played with a ring, spinning it in his hand, twirling it. He turned toward me, and I could hear the faint jingle of a mail as he moved in my direction. A sheathed sword hung in his belt, and for every step he took, it slapped against his thigh.  
>"Greetings," he said to me. He didn't sound like someone who had grown up in the alieanage. His voice carried a certain sense of education and style. He held out his hand.<br>"Evening," I said, and grasped it. Doesn't really matter if he's an elf or not, manners isn't costly. His thin lips widened into a wolfish smile.  
>"A human greeting an elf, one he has never met at that, with courtesy?" he said with a grin. "I suppose I should have expected it." I raised an eyebrow to the elf.<br>"I'm sorry. Have we met?"  
>"No. No we have not. But I do think that you and I share some acquaintances." He cocked his head toward the doorway, where I saw a familiar figure stand, acting as a guard.<br>"Zevran?" _What the hell?_  
>"Among others," the elf said. "I need a few minutes of your time." He fixed his eyes on mine. They were the same color as steel.<br>I didn't like where this was going. If this elf knew...  
>"I'm sorry," I said, and tried to slip passed him. "Kind of busy. But tell you what-" I didn't have time to see him move, but I felt it when he pushed me back into the wooden pillar. Hard. "Ouch!"<br>"I need a few minutes," he repeated, and gave me a glare that would have made darkspawn shit themselves. "Hawke."  
>Well. Crap.<br>This elf knew who I was. Zevran must've told him.  
>I looked around me to see if anybody had picked up on our exchange. Judging from the laughters and screams of more ale, I deemed it to be safe. For now.<br>So I slugged the elf right in his face. And Isabela says I can't be subtle.

He tumbled over a table, knocking over jugs of brews as he went. I judged that things could go two ways from here: either he'd get back up and spill the beans, as Varric would have put it. Or...  
>The sailors whose ale he'd spilt would start a fight. Maker bless them.<br>I dodged a punch from the closest one. He was a large man, with a gut as wide as a sword is long. He was so drunk he could hardly stand, and stumbled past me into a crowd of younger men.  
>Now, all hell broke loose. I saw cutlery, pottery and felines being thrown over the room. Zevran was gone from the doorway, and the elf was stuck in a fight with the three sailors. Now was the time to flee.<em><br>Sorry_, I would have said to the elf, but my mother didn't raise a liar.

It had been a year since Kirkwall. Since Orsino and Meredith had clashed, not caring about the innocent that would get caught in the crossfire. And Anders, who'd made it happen.  
>Shit.<br>And I. Who'd helped.  
>I didn't mean for to happen. All I wanted was to protect the city and my friends. But it had happened. I'd been too trusting. And for that, people had died. Most of them innocent. Some of them my friends. Some of them by my own hands.<br>And it got worse from there on.  
>Varric told me many stories during our time together. They always ended after the last battle. Not one detailed what happened to the Hero after he'd vanquished the evil king and married the princess. They didn't tell you that the Hero was forced to flee anyway, for the believers don't fall with their god. So I fled. Me, Isabela, Varric, Merril and Aveline. We scattered in the wind after a few months, each looking for different ways to... I don't know. Survive.<br>I'd stayed with Isabela. Together we'd sailed to Val Royeaux in Orlais, far away from Kirkwall and the troubles that brew there. Not that it had helped much. Eventually, virtually every Circle in Thedas had rebelled. And the Templars had fought fire with fire, meaning that now, two major factions, both of them wielding phenomenal powers, were out of control, trying to kill each other.  
>Guess who the Chantry blamed?<br>That was why I fled when the elf uttered my name in that tavern. If anybody knew- if the Chantry found out- I would be as dead as a pigeon.  
>And Zevran must've known that. Treacherous son of a whore. He'd sold me out. So now my plan was to find Isabela, get back on the ship, and sail for... Anywhere but here, I suppose. And maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to find the time to turn Zevran into a frog before I left.<p>

I ran as fast as I could from the tavern, stopping only to kindly inform the guard that there seemed to be some trouble going on in the Golden Rooster, and it looked like it might get ugly real soon. From there, I rushed to the docks, using the small getaways and back alleys as shortcuts.  
>Suddenly I felt as if I was flying. It was a fun experience, to soar through the air, completely weightless. For about one second, then I landed face down in the mud.<br>"Flmghp!" I shouted, face covered in mud, trying to quickly get up, and run away. As the brave man I am.  
>"Hello again, Champion," the Antivan said. "I'm sorry if I have hurt you. It was not my intention." I looked up at him, frowning.<br>I'd only met him once before (but I remembered it well). He was a handsome elf. His tan skin in contrast to the golden hair. He had a tattoo that curved from his left brow, down his cheek. He was taller than the other elf, but slimmer. Not that he wasn't fit, but his battles were fought more with stealth and speed than brute strength.  
>That's the way of the Antivan Crows.<br>"Zevran," I grunted, after I spat out the mud. "Thought we were friends!" He smiled wearily.  
>"Ah, but we are. You misunderstand our intentions," he said. "I did not lead that man to you so that he'd take you to the Chantry."<br>"Oh, well, of course," I muttered, my voice dry with sarcasm. "How silly of me. I get edgy around swords. Pardon me." He helped me up on my feet, and covered a laugh with a cough.  
>"Hawke," he said, and his face turned serious. "That man is a friend of mine. Of Isabela too-"<br>"What?" I exclaimed. He continued without acknowledging the interruption.  
>"I owe him my life. All of Ferelden does. He came to me, looking for help."<br>"And you thought: 'Of course! I'll bring him to the most wanted man by the Chantry in Thedas!'" I said. Then, after consideration, I corrected myself. "Second-most."  
>"I realize that you have your own troubles, Hawke," the assassin said. "But hear him out. Please."<br>I looked him in the eye.  
>Shit.<br>"Fine. Bring him to the ship then." I am far too kind for my own good.


	2. Chapter 2: Surana

SURANA

They came from nowhere. Literally. I had never even considered that there was another way in, another portal. But they obviously had.  
>A crack of thunder. A flash. And they appeared.<br>They all dressed the same. Flowing black cloaks that concealed their faces.  
>One of them unsheathed his sword, and signaled an attack.<br>"Run home!" I yelled at the boy, barely eleven years old. His hair was the color of hay, and he had dark golden eyes. He had his mother's eyes. "GO!"  
>An arrow whistled past me, and with a small effort of will and a mumbled word, the archer burst into flames. I drew my own sword- a long, thin blade forged by the ancient elves- as the other robed figures came closer. I reached out with one hand, and closed it into a fist, crushing two or three of them.<br>Their numbers kept on increasing. For each and every one of them I killed, more would come through the mirror.  
>I dodged a fireball, and returned the kindness with a death hex, then I spun around, my body crouched and sword held out low. The blade cut through the meat and bone of two robed men's legs. They fell, screaming, and I raised my shield to block another one's blow.<br>I decided that if I stayed, they would eventually overrun me, so I kicked the man back, and raised a barrier that prevented them from moving onward. For a while at least. If I could warn Morrigan in time, we might be able to drive them off. Hopefully.  
>But I had been wrong. Oh, so very wrong.<p>

And here I was now, in a dirty tavern, so far from home, about to be crushed by a drunken sailor.  
>Not. Bloody. Likely.<br>I raised my hand, and a light shone from it, as I spoke with a clear, commanding voice: "Sleep." The man stopped, and slumped down with his eyes closed. One of his friends saw it, and came rushing at me. I jumped to the side, and gave him a kick on the shin and a fist to the face. I looked around the chaos in search of the Champion. He was gone.  
>But so was Zevran. I couldn't help but to smile a bit, as I made my way out, trying not to be dragged into one of the smaller fights that made up the brawl.<p>

"Did you catch him?" I asked. He smiled. We stood in an alley, a few minutes from the docks. The moon had just begun it's travel across the starry sky.  
>"Well... In a sense," he answered. "Told me to bring you to their ship."<br>"Whose ship?"  
>"His and Isabela's," he said. "Well... I suppose that, if you want to be proper, Isabela's ship." I raised an eyebrow in surprise.<br>"Isabela?" I said. "The pirate wench?" He laughed.  
>"Yes, indeed. 'The pirate wench.' But do not tell her that, Alim. Shall we go then?"<br>"Let's."  
>We walked in silence for a minute perhaps. Then Zevran turned to me.<br>"Alim," he said somberly. "You've still not told me where you've been all these years." I grunted.  
>"No, Zevran. I have not."<br>"Why?" he asked. I debated whether or not I should tell him.  
>Zevran was a friend. One of the dearest I had. But what I had been up to since leaving Ferelden was... complicated. Dangerous. For both of us, I decided that it would be best if I didn't tell him.<br>"I can't tell you, Zev," I said. "It's... complicated. Hell, I'm not sure I'm entirely certain of it." He nodded understandingly.  
>"Ah, I see," he said. Then added: "But you found her, didn't you?" I felt a smile creep upon my face.<br>"Yes. I did."

The ship rocked gently in the water, not enough to make one dizzy or nauseous. We sat below deck in candle light. Alone, the four of us. The Champion eyed me. He was a tall man, and sitting down, his shoulders were the same height as my eyes. The candle's flame flickered, making shadows dance across his face, making it seem older than he was. He had short, black hair and a short beard.  
>"Champion," I said after several minutes of silence. "I'm sorry about what happened at the tavern. It was not my intention to-"<br>"Look," he said, holding up a hand. "I don't know who you are or if you're trustworthy. But Isabela says you are, and that's the only reason we're not far away from here. That does not mean, however, that I'm willing to sit here and have a nice chitchat with you. Just tell me why you want my help."  
>He spoke like a common man, without the upper class way of enunciating that I'd expected from the Champion of Kirkwall. Short and to the point.<br>I sighed.  
><em>(they took him away from me)<em>  
><em>(should have been there)<em>  
>"My son," I said. "Somebody's taken my son."<p> 


	3. Chapter 3: Morrigan

MORRIGAN

They stole my son.  
>They stole <em>my son<em>!  
>This thought rushed through my mind over and over again. The dark forest, the Wilds, greeted me like an old friend. I lay close to the earth, listening. Watching. Following. I could have killed them without trouble if I had wanted to, but I didn't. Not now, at least.<br>They party consisted of maybe ten men or so. I did not doubt for one second that they had set out to do what they had done in far greater numbers, but alas, my husband might be foolish in certain matters, but both of us knew how to defend ourselves, and many had fallen that day. Those that were left, I suspected, were the ones either too good or too cowardly to evade our efforts.  
>My lips widened into a wolf's grin.<br>But in the end, their skill with swords and bows would be of no use.  
>I rose to my feet and ran around their campsite. The world seems different when you're a wolf. Clearer than it ever was in human form. I saw the men, as if they stood in a patch of sunlight. I heard them, as if I stood right beside them. And I could smell their scent.<br>I memorized it.

The attack had been quick and sudden. Neither I, nor my love had been expecting it. And why would we? We've lived there for almost a decade, and even I had trouble first getting through the Eluvian. How had they managed to find us?  
>And why?<br>I asked myself this as I watched. Without their hoods they looked like the average person, a halfwit and nothing else. They were sitting around a campfire laughing about crude stories and pointless anecdotes. A growl built up in the back of my throat, but silenced it.  
>"The kid don't look like much," one of the men said. "Do you really think Marik is right about him? About the... I mean... A kid? Really?"<br>"Yes," another one answered. He looked older than the rest, and while they had their scabbards placed on the ground before them, his was still in his belt, with one hand on the sword's hilt. His face was cold and stern, unadorned by the ritualistic tattoos of the other kidnappers. He had shoulder-length, white hair. "I do not doubt that the High Priest is right about him. And neither should you." The other men stayed silent, and looked at him dumbfounded.  
>"Apologize, Master Daemo," the first one said, and bowed his head. "It was not my intention to imply that the High Priest was mistaken." The other's chimed in with half-hearted excuses. Master Daemo did not seem too convinced. He stood up, and fixed his cold, hard gaze upon the man.<br>"Rise, Serah Pryce," he said. Serah Pryce obeyed, if hesitantly. He was much shorter than Daemo, who was at least one head higher, and did not look much older than twenty years of age. "Serah Pryce, do you truly believe in the Word of our Father?" Pryce nodded, and I now noticed something that made me shiver.  
>The only sound came from the burning wood in the fire. Not an animal made a noise, and the wind did not make the trees howl as customary.<br>"I do not believe you, Serah Pryce," Daemo spoke without emotion. The boy's eyes widened. "I sense doubt in you." He slowly drew his sword, and held it faced downward. Pryce turned to his friends, all of whom had suddenly developed an enormous interest in their feet.  
>"Master Daemo," he pleaded with panic in his voice. "Look, I didn't mean... I'll be good, honest! I believe!"<br>"Then Urthemiel will spare you."  
>The sword cut through the air, and I could almost hear it sing. There was silence, and then a thump, when Serah Pryce's head fell to the ground. The executioner cleaned his blade and sat down again, in silent meditation. And still, no sound was made, be it from the men or the forest.<br>For the first time, I felt unsafe in the Wilds.

*** Author's note: This is the chapter I've been struggling with the most so far (that does not mean that it's worse or better than the previous, but just that it's been the hardest one to come up with the right words and so), on account that it's hard to stay In Character. I did my best however, and would appreciate any and all constructive criticism. I'm here to learn after all.


End file.
